A Victor’s Battles in Public Office
The key of Life seems to have no lock or bolt,
It comes in various shapes and sizes;
Some too pleasant to see, Others too ugly,
Like an advert or showroom on display.
Still its an imagery that wears a soul,
But dressed in humans of any form.
One can’t tell who’s lauded or spot the crowded,
That rest the title or praise of worth.
For in envy a person is drawn as. Others look with bitter scorn;
An anonymous is he or a group they are, none can tell,
Life seems favourable to that one or many indeed.
Pressure mounts on the receiver of crown,
As it rouses eye bats and cheer, frowns, jeers and hails.
Could they be alive or are they dead,
That these ones forsake the stringent codes.
Throwing away those laws that binds and choke;
The sanctions and grades to convoke their faith.
Yet emerged victorious at last they be,
An award so priceless than names penned in Gold
If so God will award even before he judges them,
For man recommends but won’t approve their dividends of respect;
He’ll set war on the day of their convocation,
To justify the works of those who accredits them.
In vain is those who haunt the selected,
Like a whirlwind thay search, as some of them the elected.
Little wonder the silent system that presented them,
As some deploy to rid the faith entrusted to them.
Forgetting it was their principle that made them stand,
But away they cast themselves by ruining what they planned.
So it may be when they’ve come to realise,
Fewer of them among the elected, stripping off the selected.
A deep confusion bewildered them in utter amazement,
Their disbelief implanted with every trace of guilt.
Their good works ruined by their own hands.
As they bow away with the glory vanishing quickly;
Its the system that has made it look this way,
A cheap blame to save their name.
Thus it builds like a clock above their heads.
Ticking ever faster on those who claim to be good.
Entangled in every fabric of their doings;
Escaped by highly corrupt from every office.
They emerge victorious with their fights and breath.
But in the end comes a blind support of odd codes.
Who is there left worthy to return praised,
For the rewards leaves unstained that man who prevails;
The strength hewn out but the prize still won,
Wonder is still mocking us all.
There are lot of good men in this race,
As fewer drop and still fewer difficult to trace.
If only a day people awaits the sigh of that man to embrace,
His works scrutinised across the works he has done,
Oh yes with the heavy burden of the system sewn.
The attitude and body language may mean another thing,
But his name and his generation is its everything.